The Last Great Adventure
by N. Forest
Summary: Written for August 2010 Teitho Challenge "Journeys". Boromir is at the end of his final journey, realising this and passing from this life. Canon character death.


**Title: **The Last Great Adventure

**Author: **N_Forest

**Rating:** K+

**Summary:** Boromir sets out on his final journey to begin his last adventure.

**Author's Note: **Many thanks to my betas.

Nothing had seemed any different when they set up camp that night. Food was made and bedrolls laid out. The Hobbits gathered in a pile, quiet and happy. With so much greenery around, there was plenty of food and supper was a larger meal than it had been in ages.

They'd stood watches, but that was no different from any other night. The moon was not full, nor was there any strange bird calls. Nothing had changed, and yet everything had.

He had found little sleep and no peace that night. His fingers twitched and his mind raced. There was so much that could be done with the ring. So much good that it could do. It could help his people, end their battles against the darkness and bring them into the light.

But they did not see it that way. He had to make them see that. At least, that was how his thoughts started out. By the time he found sleep, plans of murder and betrayal danced in his head. Ways to see certain ones dead and others ripe for picking.

His dreams were haunted too. Images of his mothers, warriors he had sent to their deaths. Condemned criminals that he had seen executed. They beckoned to him, calling him to meet with them. To settle his debts and do what he must.

And on the other side, he saw his brother, his father, the other members of the Fellowship, his friends and comrades. They were crying and trying to pull him back, yelling soundlessly at the dead ones on the other side.

He had no control over himself. Boromir looked at the living and felt his hand raise in a salute. It turned to a wave to his brother and friends. Then he turned, his back to them know. His heart raced, but he could not stop his feet as they began to move forward, towards the dead.

Then he awoke. The sun was rising now, and the Hobbits were already hard at work, making breakfast and gathering up whatever foodstuffs they could. He sat up slowly, brushing the hair from his race and trying to calm his pounding heart.

It was a sign. Some said that those with little time left to live were given signs. Dreams or visions or messages that came to them to warn them of their coming time. He stood, shaking the dirt and leaves from his coat.

He was not yet ready to die. He was suppose to protect the Hobbits and see that the tasks were carried out as they were suppose to be. And that the ring made it into the fire. Or into the hands of someone that would use it.

Besides, there was still so much left to do. He wanted to marry, to have children and see his brother laugh and smile again. He wanted to ride a horse and see if Aragorn managed to regain the throne with his father so opposed to it.

He cleaned his sword and put it his scabbard, making sure it would be ready a moment's notice. If this was to be his death day, he would not go out without a fight.

This was it. The thought hit him like a icy snowball in the face as he struggled to parry another blow from the Orc in front of him. He managed, but that didn't stop the arrow that struck him in the shoulder or the other in the leg.

The dream had been real. It had been telling him of what was to happen. It was not a warning, but a sign. And he hadn't listened. Maybe if he hadn't wanted the ring, maybe if he had never left Minas Tirith in the first place.

But this was not a time for maybes. Things were happening beyond his control. He was overrun by Orcs, saving the Hobbits. He understood how wrong he had been. The ring was not a tool, to be both good and evil. It was pure evil, and they had all been right. It needed to go. And he knew it would all work out.

Another arrow hit, and he staggered falling slightly. His fingers came to the horn at his belt and he smiled grimly. He would not die in vain. Many Orcs would go with him and he would make up for his folly, his mistakes and his crimes of greed.

_Protect the Hobbits. _He had done that, like he'd been told. But there wasn't going to be any more protecting in his future, at least, things certainly seemed that way right now. For a moment his mind cleared of muddled thoughts and a wave of pain crashed through his body.

"Boromir!"

The fallen man looked up. It hurt to move, more than it hurt to simply lay in one place. The sun was behind the head of whoever had come to his rescue and he couldn't make out their face. It bothered him more than the pain. He wanted to know so many more things.

"Boromir!"

A hand rested on his shoulder, not pressing the arrow lodged there. He felt skilled hands fly through a battlefield examination, but he already knew the answers they would find. This was his punishment for his greed. For failing.

There would have been no need for him to protect the Hobbits if he hadn't failed in his original task. He wanted the ring so badly and something had come over him, it was impossible to resist. The task which had been entrusted to him was nearly over. It hurt him, but not as much as the physical pain now.

"Boromir!"

He was slapped, hard across the face. It gave him strength, a distraction to concentrate on rather than his wounds. Strength to pull to his eyes open and look about for a moment before his eyelids once again grew too heavy.

The Orcs were dead, that was reassuring. A man looked down at him, _Aragorn_, his mind told him,_ your King_. He took a shuttering breath, trying to gather the air to speak.

"It will be an adventure." He rasped, raising his head one more time. "A final adventure to end all." He tried to smile but his face hurt to much.

"No." Aragorn was preparing bandages, trying to find a willow tree or another plant to ease pain. "This is not the end for you. You must fight!" He urged the man, quieting his heart that claimed the man had no chance.

Boromir shook his head. "Save my people Aragorn. Go to Minas Tirith and take your birthright." He grew another breath, knowing this one would be his last.

Aragorn stared at the body. He didn't understand, and at the same time it was all too clear. Boromir was finished. His chest deflated and did not rise. It was but a shell. Empty.

"Aragorn." Light footfalls behind him. A gentle touch on his shoulder. So like Boromir. It all stopped. "Aragorn, he was moved on."

Legolas motioned to the fallen man's mouth, where a light mist was emerging. "See, he travels now. There will be peace for him and no pain this time." He squeezed Aragorn's shoulder and stepped back.

Aragorn shook his head and tried to forget how many times he had heard those words, and how many more times he would hear before the war was over.


End file.
